


Re-connections

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Every man for ourselves [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of past torture/sexual assault, Mopey!Athos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7423993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place where Athos and James Bond part company in the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7395340">previous story</a>. </p><p>D'Artagnan is safe now, but the aftershocks and implications of the events of that mission continue to trouble Athos, as he prepares for d'Artagnan to leave hospital and move into his house for recuperation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Re-connections

Medical on the base was some distance from the barracks, but since it was nearly two am, and Olivier’s chances of hitching a lift or ordering a ride were small without causing an enormous fuss, he decided to simply walk over. Charles would still be in surgery, even if he hadn’t suffered any internal bleeding, which Olivier hoped to God he hadn’t.

His temporary credentials gave the staff on duty a little difficulty, but finally he was allowed to wait for Charles in a deserted waiting room. He desperately wanted another cigarette, and more than that, a drink. It was Anne’s betrayal that had set him off on the road to cirrhosis years ago, and seeing her tonight brought all those feelings of hate and anger and guilt crashing down on him, washing away three years of hard-won sobriety to leave a hunger for alcohol that was a living thing in his chest.

Only knowing that he’d given up the comfort of drinking to make himself into the man that Charles, and before him, Treville, believed him to be, kept him nailed to his chair and stopped him going in search of a drink. But the need ate away at him, fresh as the first time he’d tried to stop.

A nurse came to find him. “Agent Girard is in recovery, Agent Valois. He’ll be sedated for the rest of the night. You should return to barracks.”

“Not a chance,” Olivier said to the man. “Please let me see him. I watched him being tortured and...I...have to. I have to see him.”

The nurse searched his face. “All right. But it’ll be half an hour before he’s on the ward.”

“I can wait.”

True to his word, the nurse came back to fetch him, though it was more like an hour than half an hour later. Charles’s normally healthy olive skin was sallow, and his upper body covered in bandages and bruises and leads. His ankle was in a cast, so Olivier had been right in his assessment that the torturers had fractured it. They’d certainly tried hard enough to do so.

The boy was unconscious, as the nurse had warned. Olivier pulled up a chair beside the bed and took his friend’s hand in his. He would fight anyone who tried to make him leave before Charles woke.

He jerked some unknown time later, shocked to see daylight through the window. He looked up. Charles was still asleep.

“Athos?” Aramis had his hand on Olivier’s shoulder. “Have you been here all night?”

The clock on the wall said it was oh seven hundred hours. “Only since about four. I didn’t want him to wake and be alone. Where’s Porthos?”

“On his way. He’s had breakfast and changed. He can relieve you. Bond flew out a few minutes ago. MI6 wanted him back and there was no reason for him to stay, right?”

Olivier wiped his face. “None. What about you? Have you eaten?”

“I came to rescue you. Ah, look. I think our baby boy is awake.”

Olivier looked at Charles’s face. His eyes were still closed though he was frowning at Aramis’s crack. “Charles? How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been run over by something heavy. Or Porthos.”

Aramis chuckled. “Something heavy indeed. He’s on his way to sit on you. I mean, with you.”

“Don’ need—”

Olivier still had Charles’s hand in a tight grip, and gave it a squeeze. “No you don’t. We’ve had this out before. We don’t let one of us be alone when they are sick or injured. Correct?”

“Yes, boss.” Charles finally opened his eyes, but closed them again. “Fuckin’ sun.”

“That’s the tropics for you,” Aramis said. “Porthos is here now.”

Paul walked over, grinning at Charles. “So, he lives.”

“Apparently,” Aramis said, urging Olivier to switch places with him. Olivier found it hard to relinquish Charles’s hand, but he recognised that he needed to clean up, eat, and make a report to Treville. “Unfortunately it seems all the nurses are men, Charles, so you’ll have no choice but to behave.”

“More for you,” Charles slurred, smiling a little. “Did we...mission, we finished it?”

“Complete success,” Olivier said firmly, choosing to ignore the small matter of Milady. “You did well.”

Charles winced. “Di'nt feel like it.” The monitor at his side registered an increase in heart rate and blood pressure.

Aramis touched Olivier’s arm. “Not now,” he murmured. “We’ll be back later, Charles. Don’t let Porthos talk you into a bed bath.”

“You’re no fun, Aramis.” Paul had his hand on Charles now, his big paw engulfing Charles’s long fingers. “Go on, guys. You don’t half smell.”

“How kind.” Aramis urged Olivier to leave, and only once they were well away from the ward did he ask, “What happened at the compound? Apart from the obvious.”

The few hours’ sleep Olivier had had hadn’t begun to touch his fatigue, and he suddenly felt much older than his thirty-six years. “A clusterfuck. I should report to the captain.”

“My friend, you should shower, eat, and get some more sleep. Come get breakfast, and tell me what you can bear to.” That was the nice thing about Aramis. He could take a hint, and he clearly realised the story was a bad one.

They lined up behind a long queue of soldiers. Aramis, clearly impatient on Olivier’s behalf, was all prepared to pull rank and cause a scene, but Olivier said, “Don’t,” quietly, and Aramis settled down. They were served hot chocolate and warm rolls soon enough, and Aramis found seats in the corner, away from the masses.

The taste of the bread made Olivier realise he was starving. He hadn’t actually eaten since the flight the day before. He felt a little more solid once he had broken his fast. “Now you don’t look like the living dead quite so much,” Aramis said. “So, can you tell me anything?”

“We got in easily enough thanks to Q, but we were caught before we could get to Rochefort. Charles was shot in the shoulder. Rochefort took us for interrogation. He had his guards concentrate on Charles.”

Aramis’s eyes were full of sympathy. “While you and Bond had to watch?”

“Yes. It was bad as they could make it in half an hour or so. He, uh...they used an electric baton. You know.”

Aramis winced. “Was he conscious?”

“Yes, mostly. He screamed.” Olivier put his hands under the table to hide the fact they were shaking. “But then Rochefort returned with Milady. For reasons yet unknown, she shot him and released us, and allowed us to escape.”

“ _She_ shot Rochefort? Holy mother of god, really?”

“Yes. And she didn’t tell him that she knew who any of us were. My guess is that she wanted to get rid of him, black widow style and we were her cover.”

“She escaped?”

“I let her. Charles’s condition was too severe for us to chase after her. We’d achieved what we had to do. She was only ever secondary.”

Aramis pursed his lips. “‘Let’?”

“Bond was going to shoot her. I...stopped him.”

“Athos.” Aramis’s tone was part scolding, part surprise, and, since it was Aramis, part sympathy.

“She’d just saved our necks, Aramis! For whatever reason. I couldn’t just watch him kill her. And we didn’t have the capacity to deal with her wounded or in good health. Not with Charles in the state he was in.”

“Of course not. Is Bond going to complain?”

“He said not. I don’t care. She’s not worth losing Charles over. Not worth losing any more good men. If Bond wants her dead, he can kill her on his own time. It’s what he does, remember?”

Aramis nudged Olivier’s cup over to him. “Finish up. I won’t say anything. You shouldn’t either. She escaped, and probably would have anyway. Don’t throw your career away for her. It would only please her.”

“I doubt she cares. She never looked at me once.”

Aramis didn’t look convinced, but said nothing. “Do you know how long it will be before Charles can fly?”

“No idea, but I’m not leaving until he does. The cardinal can shove it if he thinks otherwise.”

“Oh, I suspect his eminence is done with trying to split us up. It never ends well, does it?”

Olivier permitted himself a smile. “No, it really doesn’t. I really do need that shower.”

“Hardly worth it. Five minutes later and you’ll be drenched in sweat again.”

“I still should make the effort. Have either of you reported to Treville?”

“No, but Q said he would make the preliminary report. He didn’t mention what happened to Charles though.”

Probably for the best, Olivier thought. “I’ll call him. Now you hit the showers too and get some more sleep.”

“Shower, yes, sleep no. I want to take over from Porthos when I’ve had a chance to talk to the doctors.”

Charles would be in good hands. Olivier could add nothing but his own worries and guilt, and the lad didn’t need it. “I’ll be back in the barracks then. Let me know what you find out.”

“Yes, boss.” Aramis put his hand on Olivier’s arm. “He’ll be fine.”

“Hope so.” But Olivier’s hands were shaking again. It had been too close this time. Way too close.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

A combination of Charles’s determination to go home, and his team’s badgering the doctors to let him, meant they all flew back to Paris four days later. Not that Charles was anywhere close to a full recovery, but he was stable enough to travel and insisted he wanted to get back to France. It would be two months before he would be back on even light duties. He had one broken rib, three more cracked, a broken ankle, a shoulder injury which would take a long time before he would have full strength in it again, and deep bruises which would also take time to heal.

He was transferred, still heavily sedated, from the flight to a private room in a clinic near La Piscine, and the team told to clear off to let him sleep and recover. Olivier, out of sheer bloodymindedness, managed to force the doctors to let him stay, though he had to keep away from the bedside while Charles slept. Still, they had kept their promise never to let any of their own suffer alone.

Treville came to visit, listening with a stern face to the list of injuries and the prognosis, before taking Olivier aside. “We can’t keep your team out of the field for months.”

“Just let us let us have long enough for him to start counselling, so we know he’s in good hands.”

Treville stared at him so long Olivier wondered if the man was considering giving him the boot. “Counselling for you too, Athos.”

“I don’t need it.”

“I disagree. He goes and you go. It's mandatory after capture and hostile interrogation. Constance has offered for him to stay at her house. I thought that best.”

“Yes, of course. But his mother—”

“Is old and in poor health. I called his sister and she agreed Charles is best left in Paris. The man will be in a wheelchair for weeks.”

“Yes, he will.” And Constance would take good care of him. Olivier could offer nothing better.

“Meanwhile, I want your written report. Just the highlights, no need for too much detail. I have that from Monsieur Q.”

“And from 007?”

Treville smiled wryly. “It seems that covert government assassins are allergic to paperwork, can you imagine. Q has been eloquent on the subject.”

Nothing in his boss's tone or words had hinted he was fishing for the untold truth from Olivier, but not telling him was a deception unworthy of both of them. “Sir...I chose to prevent Bond from shooting her. Milady. I judged it unnecessary and possibly compromising in the circumstances.” Olivier stood straight-backed, ready to face the consequences of his actions. If Treville was going to have him thrown out, better to know now than later.

“If it was your best judgement, I see no reason to second guess it, Athos. Obviously it was a highly charged, fast moving situation with Charles so badly injured and with the need to get away from the compound before the bombing started. Q didn’t mention it. _You_ don’t need to dwell on it. Do you understand?”

“Thank you, sir. Do we...was she found? Did she escape as she planned?”

“Her whereabouts are unknown. I have no reason to believe she died at the compound. She’ll have to be dealt with at some point, but in the circumstances, I’m not going to waste resources chasing after her. Maybe her next lover will deal with her as she needs to be. I can only assume she pre-empted Rochefort from doing just that.”

“My thoughts exactly. Once she knew MI6 were after the two of them, she decided to cut her losses.”

“Yes, agreed. Your team provided her with a perfect opportunity. If she could have managed to kill Rochefort before Charles had been hurt so badly, it would have been better, but there you have it. Now, I expect you back at headquarters this time tomorrow. Aramis will take your place here.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Treville nodded. “Make your report and then you can all have the rest of the week off.”

Since it was only Monday, that was a generous offer. “Thank you.”

“I think you’re owed it, having had to host Bond for so long.”

Someone else who wasn’t a fan of 007. “He wasn’t so bad.”

“He’s a bloody sociopathic pain in the arse, according to Q. And those are his good points.”

Olivier grinned. “And I thought Q was fond of him.”

“Imagine what his enemies say about him. Now don’t annoy the doctors again. I don’t like fielding the complaints.”

“No, sir.”

Olivier resumed his vigil. It was never not a shock to see Charles so still. The kid was a ball of energy even when tired. He made Olivier feel twice his age at times, and yet more alive than he’d been in years. Other replacements for...Milady...hadn’t worked out. Charles had slotted in perfectly, because they’d all needed the tonic he’d proved to be.

If this permanently damaged him, if he couldn’t take his place back on the team, Olivier didn’t think he had it in him to keep going. He’d been in France’s service for nearly twenty years, and the job had never been harder or crueller. Once it had been his wife at his wide who gave him reason to keep going. Now it was Charles, Aramis and Paul.

“Athos?”

Olivier jerked up. “Charles?” He walked over to the bed. “How do you feel?”

“You know. Kinda not all here.” Charles reached out his hand, and Olivier took it. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“Let me get the chair.” Sod the doctors. “Better?”

“Mmmm. Is there water?”

A jug had been left at the side for him. Olivier poured him a cup and positioned the straw, helping him to drink. Charles took a long swallow, then pushed it away. “Thanks. Sorry. Shouldn’t have to wait on me.”

“Take it out of you next time we spar.”

Charles smiled tiredly. “You should go get some sleep.”

“Push off, it’s only six o’clock.”

“Oh. Feels later. I have no idea actually.” He closed his eyes again. “Don’ like drugs.”

“Don’t blame you.” Still keeping one of Charles’s hands trapped in his own, Olivier removed the water cup and set it aside. “You’ll only be here a day or so, then Constance is going to have you stay.”

Charles’s eyes snapped open. “But I thought...we always stay at your house.”

Olivier had a stupidly large house in Sucy-en-Brie that he’d bought—really, his father had bought for him—after he’d married Anne, just outside Paris. He’d fondly imagined them raising a family and growing old in the house, but she had never lived there, betraying both marriage and country a scant year after the wedding. The house had become, instead, a haven for his remaining friends. When on duty, the team stayed in the dorms, but when not working, they lived with him. If they hadn’t, he’d have sold the bloody thing years ago.

“You’ll be in a wheelchair, and need personal assistance. She offered.” Charles kept staring at him. “We’ll visit, and when you’re out of the chair, you’ll be welcome at my house again.”

“Are you saying I’m not welcome until I’m fit?”

“No!” Olivier went over what he’d said. _God, that’s what it did sound like._ “No, no. I just thought...you’d prefer a woman’s touch.”

“I want to be with my team. Unless I’m not on it any more.”

Olivier squeezed Charles’s hand. “Never. I would not ever allow it. Of course you’re welcome. Treville just arranged things with Constance—”

“And no one asked me? Please, boss. I want to be with you guys.”

“Don’t give me those damn eyes, Charles. Okay. Whatever you like.” Charles’s face split in a grin. “If we need a nurse, I’ll hire one.” What had he been thinking? Of course Charles belonged with them.

“I love you, you know that, right, Athos? I love all of you.”

“Yes, yes, and you’re our baby boy.” Charles gave Olivier the now traditional pained look at that ancient joke. “You should sleep.”

“You too. Don’t care what time it is. You look wrecked.”

“I have this report to write.”

“Tomorrow. Do it tomorrow. Go back to the dorms. Get Aramis to take you out to dinner.”

“When did you start arranging my free time, Agent Girard?”

“When you needed it, Agent Valois. Sir.” His hand slackened in Olivier’s. “Tired though.”

“Then I’ll go. Aramis will be here in the morning.”

“Spring me tomorrow, please? Hate hospitals.”

“We’ll see. Now, go back to sleep.”

“Yes, boss.” Charles’s smile was one of the greatest pleasures in Olivier’s life. Not that he would admit it for all the money in his father’s bank account. He permitted himself a single pat on the kid’s head, then made himself leave before he disgraced himself.

Constance wasn’t amused. “I’ve just gone and arranged a bloody nurse, Olivier. Treville said it was all sorted.”

“I know, but he didn’t ask Charles and Charles has views. I’m sorry. We’ll still need the nurse at the house. We're only off until Monday.”

“But I asked my sister-in-law, I mean my ex-sister-in-law, to come stay. I thought...she and Charles might...you know.”

She didn’t know. How could she have known? “I’m sorry, but I think Charles might not be in the mood for anything like that. It was...worse than usual, Constance.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Athos?” She only called him that when she was angry or worried.

“Things were ugly, and I don’t think Charles wants...look, _I_ know what happened. He can talk to me. For the love of God, just don’t push it.”

“All right, my dear.” She was tapping at a keyboard. “I’m sending you the details of the nursing agency. They’re all cleared with us.”

“Okay.”

“Are you all right, Olivier? Treville didn’t tell me much other than you were captured and Charles was injured while you were trying to escape. Q was no more informative, damn the man.”

“I’m fine. Just tired. Bit stressful. Getting down to the house with the lads will be good.”

“Then go as soon as you can. I’ve taken tomorrow off so I can babysit him. You tell Aramis to get his backside out to the countryside and cook for you all, like he should do.”

“Yes, _Maman_.”

“I’ll ‘Maman’ you, you wretch. Love you. Look after our boy.”

“Thank you, Constance.”

Aramis was all in favour of Charles coming to the house as soon as he was sprung. “We’ll go down with you when you go—in the morning?”

“Yes.” Because he was going to finish this damn report tonight and hopefully he would be too tired to dream or to want to drown his thoughts in drink. “Grab me for breakfast and we’ll go from there.”

“Yes, boss. Looking forward to it.”

The report took him an hour, and an hour after that he was asleep. Dawn found him awake in sweat-drenched sheets, and desperate to get out of the room and Headquarters. He showered, and wished he had a reason to wake Aramis and Porthos. Christ, it was only five am. He sent a text to Aramis to say he’d see them in the canteen when they were awake, and went in search of coffee.

Twenty minutes later Aramis walked into the still deserted canteen, yawning. He grabbed some coffee and joined Olivier at his table. “If I’d known you were so desperate to leave, I’d have suggested we left last night.”

“Porthos?”

“In the shower. Give him ten. What’s wrong, my friend?”

“Can’t sleep. Too much sitting around on planes and in hospitals.”

“Right. Bad dreams?”

“A few.”

“Hmmm. Treville’s going to make you go to a counsellor, isn’t he?”

“So he says. SOP, he says.”

“Make sure you go.”

“And say what? I’m fine, Aramis. I mean, it wasn’t great seeing him be hurt, but we’ve all been in nasty situations before. I’ve been beaten up a few times myself.”

“And the last time you came back and went on a bender for ten days.”

“I’m not drinking now, Aramis. You don’t have to worry.”

“I do worry, you twit. You don’t have the booze to lean on. So what will you use now?”

“I don’t need anything. It wasn’t me who was hurt.”

Aramis exhaled gustily. “ _Madre de Dios_ , spare me.” He drank his coffee and made a face. “First on the shopping list, decent coffee.”

“Second, whatever aids d’Artagnan needs to help him in the toilet and the bed and so on. Can I ask you to arrange all that?”

“Of course. And a nurse?”

“If he needs one. I’ll let him decide.”

Aramis nodded. Olivier relaxed. He didn’t want a fight with his best friend before breakfast. Or at all.

Porthos came in not long after, and tapped Aramis’s mug. “I’m not drinking this shit. Let’s get coffee on the way to the station.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

An hour and a half later Olivier unlocked the front door of his house. “Aramis, coffee. Porthos, you two can sleep upstairs this time, okay? He’ll need the downstairs bed, so you better grab your stuff and take it up to the master bedroom. I’ll go shopping after breakfast. Aramis, make me a list of what we need, please.” He opened some windows in the downstairs glassed sitting area, and couldn’t resist walking out onto the lawn and inhaling the fresh air. At last he wasn’t in the jungle or the hospital, and his friends were with him.

Aramis and Paul found him in the garden on a chair near the larch. “Room service,” Paul said, handing over coffee and a pastry picked up on the way to the station in Paris. He sprawled on the grass in front of Olivier. “I love having rich friends.”

“Friends with rich fathers, you mean.”

“Same thing. Gonna be a warm day. I’m hitting the pool later, fair warning.”

“I may join you,” Aramis said, sitting cross-legged next to his friend and lover. “Although I’ll have to spend some time rigging things up for d’Artagnan.”

“We can do that together,” Paul said, running his hand along Aramis’s thigh. Their casual affection always made Olivier a little wistful. They cheerfully shared their bed with him whenever he wanted, but asking was hard sometimes. He was so pathetic, needing pity fucks from his best friends.

“We should have a workout too. Just because d’Artagnan will be stuck doing nothing for weeks, doesn’t mean we have to get fat on his behalf.”

“Just said I was going for a swim,” Paul grumbled. “We’re off, boss.”

“Just had three days doing bugger all in Libreville. You want more of a rest?”

“Yeah. You can’t make me work out.” Paul’s dark eyes twinkled with humour, daring Olivier to force him.

“We’ll see about that.” He tipped his head back. “Still so early. People aren’t on their way to work yet.”

“So relax and enjoy breakfast for a change, Athos.” Aramis lay back on top of Paul, and was immediately wrapped in his lover’s massive arms, and though he loved the two of them dearly Olivier suddenly didn’t want to be around people able to be so free with their feelings.

“I think I might walk down to the shops. What do you need?”

“Just milk, bread. I’ll head out to have a look later once I’ve arranged the medical equipment.”

“Then I’ll just go for a walk and leaving the shopping to you. Take my car if you want. Keys are in the usual place.”

“Are you all right, Athos?” Aramis had sat up to look at him.

“Fine. I thought [Morbras Park](http://www.valdemarne.fr/vivre-en-val-de-marne/le-parc-du-morbras) would be nice at this time of day, that’s all.”

“Let him go, love,” Paul said. “He wants to get away from us uncouth peasant types, is all.”

“Yes, that’s exactly right. See you later.”

The temperature was already rising, and it would be hot later on. How would Charles like that, being cooped up in the middle of summer? And just like that, Olivier’s thoughts went from there back to that night in Libreville, to that airless stone room, listening to Charles’s screams, and Olivier cursing in German, the only thing he could do to try and distance himself a little from the horror.

His stomach churned so badly, he had to bend over and discreetly vomit into the gutter. He wiped his mouth with a tissue, and stood up to see two women walking arm in arm, staring at him with pursed, disapproving lips. No doubt they thought he’d been drinking. He wished.

He had to find a place to sit for a few minutes before he could go on. Maybe this was a mistake, bringing Charles here. Olivier could always go back to the dormitory, let Aramis and Porthos look after the lad. Yes, that might be the answer.

But then Charles, always so sensitive to his moods, might think he revolted Olivier _._ That the assault had defiled him in some way in Olivier’s eyes, when the very opposite was true. Seeing Charles endure so much with such humour—to remember the very worst insults Aramis had ever taught him and send them back to his torturers—and such bravery, humbled Olivier. He could not have borne it thus.

And to think he owed Anne Charles’s life. All their lives. _She giveth and she taketh away_. Olivier had lost one of the mainstays of his life when Thomas had been murdered, only to find an equal joy and support in their new team member. Not that Anne knew that or would have given the smallest damn if she had. The three of them had been expedient to her, nothing more.

The sun was too bright, his stomach too disturbed for comfortable walking, but he forced himself on to the park. All four of them loved this place, especially after a hard mission. Winter or summer, they could find something to enjoy, somewhere to be that let them unwind. Olivier loved the streams and pools, indulging an atavistic joy in seeing fresh water. But he found no peace in them today.

He found another place to sit, and pulled out his phone. He texted Constance.

_How is he? Any news on discharge?_

_Give us a chance, I’m not at the hospital yet. Where are you?_

_At the house._

_Someone was up with the larks._

_Sleep is for the weak._

_[eye rolling emoticon] Go back to bed. I’m not seeing him for an hour._

_Yes, maman._

No reply, but he imagined her expression.

He set off again. He needed to walk off his feelings.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

“For the love of God, Athos! What have you been _doing_?”

Aramis rushed over and took his arm, all but dragging him to the kitchen to sit on a stool, before pouring him a glass of water from the tap and setting it before him with a little too much force. “Drink that. All of it. Have you eaten? You look like shit.”

Olivier didn’t touch the water. “Stop fussing.”

“Then don’t come back looking like that.” His team mate put his hand on Olivier’s forehead. “You are going to be the death of me. All of us. You went for a _walk_. What have you been doing? Cross-country running?”

“No, but if I had, I’m fit enough. Stop it, I said.”

“Drink the water. I’m going to make you some toast.”

Olivier didn’t feel like eating, though it was hours and hours since breakfast. He sipped the water, but wanted to throw it up again. “I might have a bug.”

“You’re sick? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Olivier shook his head and took his water over to the living room. The house was a little cooler at least. “Have you heard from Constance?”

“Not yet. I’ve been shopping, and Porthos is collecting some things for our boy. Are you really sick?”

“No. Just.”

“Just?”

“Keep hearing him scream, Aramis.” Olivier pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I tried not to watch, to give him some dignity. But I had to listen.”

Aramis brought the toast over, put it down, then wrapped his arms around Olivier. He said nothing, for which Olivier was grateful. Words were too trite for his feelings right now.

After a bit, Aramis kissed the side of his head. “Seeing him here, alive, will help, I hope.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s why they pick on the youngest. They know the harm it does to the rest of us.”

“Bond didn’t show any emotion at all. Like he was watching a fly on the wall.”

“He’s older than you, and faced this before. Trust me, he felt it. Anyway, who cares what he thinks. It’s you, it’s us, I have to worry about.”

“I can’t fall apart like this in front of him. Charles will have enough to bear.”

“You underestimate how much strength he draws from you, and what comfort _he_ will find in seeing _you_ alive, Athos. Now eat.”

“I don’t want it.”

“My friend, that wasn’t a request.”

All of the team ignored Aramis-the-medic’s orders at the peril of a penetrating, disapproving stare that wore a man down like hot water through ice. So Olivier picked up the plate and picked at the toast. It did help, actually, and he drank a little more of the water, feeling less disturbed than before, but that was owed more to Aramis’s arms still around him than the food.

When he’d eaten enough to make his medic happy, Aramis kissed him again. “Better. Lay off the coffee for the rest of the day, okay?”

“You’re cruel.”

“And you’re a nervy intellectual stuck in the body of a soldier. No wonder your heart keeps trying to climb out of your chest.”

“Maybe when the world stops throwing treacherous wives and tortured team mates at me, I’ll become that serene soul you imagine me to be.”

“How much of this is d’Artagnan, and how much seeing her again?”

“I don’t know.” Olivier rubbed his forehead. “I had a dream last night where she shot all of us, but let me live so I could watch you all die.”

“And yet, she actually saved you. Confusing.”

“Not if you realise she only does things for herself, so we were part of her plan, probably from the moment she made Bond. I was so afraid when she walked in with Rochefort. I was sure she was going to kill Charles.”

“Not that she was going to kill you?”

“I accepted long ago she probably will one day. Unless I kill her first, and I already proved that will never happen.” _Unless she threatens my people. **Then** I can kill her._

“Being unable to destroy what you love is not a character flaw, Athos.”

“I don’t love her!”

Aramis sighed and held him tighter, saying nothing. But he was wrong in what he did not say. Olivier didn’t love Anne any more. She had killed too many people, done too much harm. And then there was Thomas.

He detached himself from Aramis’s lovely hug. “I did wonder if Charles would be better off if I went back to town, and you stayed here with him. Because you weren’t there.”

“No, we weren’t, and no, he wouldn’t be. Where are you going?”

“Shower.”

“Make it a cool one.”

 _I don’t have heatstroke_ , Olivier wanted to protest, but he was feeling a little too warm. Definitely too stupid and not with it enough to handle any of this.

He came back downstairs, just in shorts and a light t-shirt. Aramis was making lunch. Olivier found he was in fact hungry, now his stomach had stopped roiling

“Did that help?”

“A bit. Sorry.”

Aramis lifted his eyes to the ceiling, muttered what looked like a prayer in Spanish, and sighed. “Message from Constance. D’Artagnan can be released and she’ll bring him down in a company car in the morning, if that’s okay. I thought it would be.”

“He can come tonight.”

“No, tomorrow. They’re still running some tests and checking his shoulder and ankle. All routine,” he added as Olivier’s anxiety spiked again. “And you need some time to settle down.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Then you’ll be even more fine tomorrow morning, when we have all the equipment in place and you have a decent night’s sleep for the first time since the mission. Porthos is on his way back, he says.”

“I’m supposed to be sorting out a nurse. I just don’t know if he’ll want that.”

“Wait and see.” Aramis looked up from the tomatoes he was chopping. “You don’t have to be perfect at this, Olivier. None of us expect that, except you of yourself. Charles is strong enough to cope with a fuck-up here and there, whatever happened that night. Just _be_ here.” He wagged a knife at Olivier. “And no more talk of running away.”

“No, sir.”

“No. We're not leaving either. That’s what a team is for.”

Olivier smiled, maybe the first real, care-free smile he’d given since James bloody Bond had walked into that meeting two weeks ago. “Yes.”

“Yes. And tonight, you will be with us. _With_ us, understand?”

“I don’t—”

“It’s not about sex. We need you to be _with_ us. What makes you think you’re the only one capable of being frightened at how close you came to losing someone?”

“Sorry.”

“Stop that. Now, take over. I’m going to cook the rice.”

Aramis kissed his cheek as Olivier came around beside him at the counter.

That night, Olivier would not be alone with his toxic memories, but with those he loved best. Whether in their bed, or on the couch with them on either side of him, holding him, as they had done before, giving him their strength.

He only hoped it would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Seems I had too many feelings to cram into one story, so at least one more is to come. Athos’s house is like [this one](http://www.immostreet.com/france/sucy-en-brie-4833200/vente/maison-villa/maison-villa-6-pieces-110325377). What does his father do? I’m not sure, but whatever it was, it’s instilled the same devotion to duty above all else that the original Athos was saddled with.
> 
> Again, I know nothing about the actual layout or operation of the DGSE. All comments, criticism and corrections welcome! Love to all the great authors in this fandom who have been giving me so much wonderful fiction to read since I discovered the BBC Musketeers (and hurry up iTunes, make the damn thing available in Australia already :( )


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